A Minstrel's Quest
by Penny Parker
Summary: (Based on my actual EverQuest character) Join Sorenna Songstorm, a half-elf Bard on her journey throughout the world of EverQuest. Chapters 4&5 now up! n.n;;
1. Storm of Thoughts

The sky fell in icy sheets as rain beat down mercilessly upon the thatch roof on the large inn of Tanembir. Yet, there was a clear patch of cloudless night off to the far west, and that was what held Sorenna's gaze. Those nimbus-grey eyes stared mindlessly into the small hole in the clouds before they slid shut.

Her room was cluttered with several blank pieces of parchment and various instruments of her trade, a Bard. Lightning flashed twice in the sky and the clap of thunder was followed by a small cry of surprise from her. The rain battered upon the roof now, and unable to support the abuse of the angry deluge, a tiny leak had sprung and Sorenna received her second bath of the night.

A growl of exasperation was uttered as she moved her things from the window table to her desk. She looked up at the minuscule torn section of roof with a downtrodden sigh and stepped over the fireplace, looking into the crackling embers before reaching up and taking handfuls of her mahogany red hair. It really wasn't too long, it stopped at her chin but it was soaked and had to be wrung out. Water dripped onto the cinders as she squeezed and wrung her hands together and then she tossed her head back, slicking her damp hair behind her somewhat pointed ears.

Yes being a half-elf was hard. She had to fight to earn respect from the humans, and the pure elves she was bred from. Luckily though, she'd made fast friends with the innkeeper Thomar, and earned herself a permanent residence, so long as she writes one new song each month as rent and play it for his tenants.

However, this would be the second month she would have to owe Thomar. The temporal flow was against her. She'd lost herself in time ever since she met him. Fenrik was all she wanted in a man. He was funny, attractive, a superb hunter being a Ranger, and shy to a fault, but that was something she could forgive in him. It made him cute. She'd thought many times of writing a love ballad for him, but several reasons stopped her from even scribbling down a title.

For one, she didn't know if he felt the same way about her. He always seemed as if he saw her more as a best friend, or the sister he never had. And another thing stopping her was Thomar. He didn't think a love ballad would keep a crowd interested, so Sorenna was left with another month's work undone. She couldn't afford to have writers block for this month too and she had only a day left to finish and play her rent.

Right now however, there were more pressing matters like the leak in her room, so she swept up her tattered cloth bathrobe and slipped it over her shoulders.


	2. Tanembir Inne

The tavern at the ground level of the inn was quiet this evening, with only a few of the locals that frequented for Thomar's and his wife's hospitality. Thomar himself sat upon one of the stools propped up behind the bar, an ale glass in one hand, and a quickly dirtying rag in the other as he wiped gingerly at the surface of the glass.

He was a man in his late fifties, and he had the look of one tarried for years, but if anyone were to meet him, they'd learn otherwise. His full beard was tied neatly with a small bow, as was what little whitening blonde hair he had on his round, shining, and bald head. It wasn't hard to tell that he looked extremely pleased this evening, for he wore a large, contented grin upon his face that puffed up his already pudgy cheeks.

Thomar's wife had the same plump and petite look to her. She emerged from the kitchen, drying one of her hands upon her food-messed apron. In the other she bore a full plate with a rack of lamb, plenty of potatoes, and garnishes upon it. She wore a smile identical to her husband's, warm and pleasant as she carried it to a booth on the far left side of the room, offering a smooch to Thomar's cheek along the way.

The three men that sat in the booth straightened, smacking their lips as they watched her bring the plate ever closer and set it down on the table before them. The smaller man who sat on the right by himself immediately dove for one of the ribs and started separating it from the rest. The plump woman chuckled and reached a hand over, mussing it in the man's stringy brown hair.

"My my, Gunther m' boy! Ya eat 'ere nea'ly every night! Ya act as if yar starved!"

"Mum Taura, if I swallow an entire herd a cattle or sheep that ain't your cookin', it still wouldn't fill my belly like these fine vittles!" He replied.

"Oy, ya little suck-up! Yer flattery's as empty as yer stomach, boy, eat up." She lifted a spoon and scooped up some potatoes, shoving them into Gunther's mouth.

"Ah, bloody lies! His wife works off every morsel you fed him, Mum! Forgets there's even food ter eat sometimes!" One of the larger men piped up with a cheek full of mashed potatoes.

"Ya, tha's all well and good McEron, but a' least Gunther 'ere 'as taken a wife. So many maidens in Tanembir an' ya 'aven't even looked yet 'ave ya?" Taura's smile broadened as Thomar approached the table with three steins of Ale.

"Scrawny little waif Gunther's wife be, isn't she? Don' matter how much food there is, the spindly old shrew wouldn't lift a finger to cook it. So brittle she be afraid it'd break right off and turn to dust." Said the third man at the table, between sips of ale. The comment earned a hearty laugh from all the men and Taura as well. Thomar turned and started heading back to the bar, but stopped for a moment when he saw Sorenna coming down the stairs.

"Come to grace us with your songs Ren?" Called Gunther from across the room.

"Eve boys. Gorging as usual? A song'd only put you sleep now." She raised a slender hand and waved quaintly at the men with an amused smile as she walked up to Thomar.

"I don't mean to be a bother Thom, but my roof's sprung a little leak, do you have any extra twine so I could tie the thatch back together?"

"Fer you, Songbird, anythin'." Thomar took her hand and kissed it gently before letting it go and walking back behind the bar and into one of the store rooms. He emerged a second later holding a handful of strong knit twine which he rolled into a ball and handed to the half-elf. She smiled and bowed lightly in thanks.

"You look extraordinarily happy tonight, Thom. What's the occasion?" She stopped by the landing of the stairs to listen for his answer. The husky man chuckled richly and resumed scrubbing the glasses, turning and nodding his head to her with a wink.

"Lord Trekmoore just made quite a generous donation to the inn, Songbird, and startin' morrow I'm beginnin' a few renovations, startin' with the problem of tha' leaky roof o' yars. An' dunna be worryin' about rent this month neither! I know yuh've been frolickin' off with that Fenrik fella. 'Ave yar fun while ya can. Jus' be keepin' yar eye on that Wood-Elf gal, Runeglow her name be, I think..."

"Oh! Vilulae? The druid from the tree city, Kelethin? Thom, she's already sporting with Sarkin and Kudamil! A Rogue and Warrior...and Kudamil is a barbarian! Don't you think she'd have her hands full enough with him? Vil is very beautiful, but Fenrik would faint if she even winked at him!" She paused for a small giggle while she pictured her half elf friend turning an apple red and collapsing.

"He's far too shy. Well, I've got to go fix the leak. Good night everyone!" Sorenna bowed once and headed up the stairs, closing the door behind her when she reached her room.


	3. Searching for Inspiration

It barely took even a minute to tie the thatch back together and secure it with the twine. Now with the leak taken care of, Sorenna could get back to more pressing matters, like writing her rent. She sat for what seemed like hours, just staring out the window and tapping her inkless quill upon the blank parchment idly. Even as the sky cleared by nine-thirty, she could find inspiration in nothing.

Perhaps if she went out for a walk she may stumble upon a suitable topic for song, so she slipped off her robe and walked to her armor cabinet. She paused however, thinking it unwise to wear her Tranquilsong armor lest someone think she was looking for a fight, and slipped on her simple leather tunic instead.

Her fingers trailed over the soft, grey fur of the mist wolf pelt Fenrik had collected for her to use as a shawl, and she swung it around her shoulders, tugging the skull and top jaw over her head as a hood. Sorenna waved goodbye to Thomar, Taura and the men and exited the inn, stepping out onto the rain glazed cobblestone streets. She tucked away her ink, parchment, and quill into a pocket within the shawl and adjusted her lute so that it rested across her back as she wandered aimlessly.

Eventually her feet led her to "Arm for a Leg," the town Arena. It wasn't exactly the most wholesome place in the entire village, but perhaps she could compose a Battle Hymn about one of the fighters that would be acceptable at the very least, as rent. The doors to the one story building were heavy and didn't open easily for her.

Sorenna could now see why the building was only one floor. Deep, very deep, at least three more stories down, was a gigantic sand arena. The light beige sand was absolutely littered with bodies which lay in puddles of red-stained grains, and there were too many to count.

Out of everyone in the sandy death-trap, there were only seven or so fighters left standing in battle. One of them was a rogue it seemed, with amazing sneaking and backstabbing skills, and he was obviously using a poison-lined dagger. The unfortunate human that became the next target of his blade, only needed to be stabbed once in the leg before he dropped his sword and clawed at his own throat, choking on the very air he was trying so hard to breathe. When he collapsed to the floor twitching, Sorenna had the hunch that he would not be getting back up, and sure enough he eventually stopped moving all together.

She couldn't watch this horrific display any longer, but she couldn't just run to the door. The place was packed to capacity, and she didn't dare try to shove people out of the way to exit the building. Instead she wandered through the crowd, keeping one hand in her pocket, clutching her wallet tightly.


	4. An Iskar!

The first set of stairs brought her down one level closer to the ground of the sand pit. A loud triumphant cheering from just behind her startled her and caused her to jump slightly. There was a large mob gathered around one of the tables against the rail which overlooked the arena, and Sorenna had to climb back up a few of the stairs and lean over the edge to see over them all.

At the table sat a rather burly and battle-worn looking dwarf, with a missing eye. There was a deep, angry, red welt of a scar and an empty socket where the eye used to be, and sweat had matted clumps of his bushy, wiry umber hair to his face.

His beard was soaked with little glistening droplets of perspiration, and he let off another victorious roar, raising his buff arms into the air high above his head and curling his hands into beefy little fists as he flexed.

Another man was on the floor, clutching a broken arm. It was mangled so badly, she could see bone sticking up through the skin. All this, was over an arm-wrestling match.

Many of the onlookers cheered and held their steins of ale and other beverages high into the air as a toast, and some groaned and grumbled as they exchanged platinum, gold, silver, and copper pieces with rather pleased looking spectators.

One person caught her eye however. From the distance she could not discern if it were male or female, for the figure was clad head to toe in a hooded black robe. They moved away from the crowd slowly and over to one of the booths that was shadowed by the overhand of the stairs.

At the booth sat two more black hooded figures, and in front of one there was a mortar and pestle upon the table, as well as an empty stein.

She was thankful at that moment for her elven gift of infravision, for when she peered into the shadows, she gasped at the sight of the hands that were grinding the mortar and pestle. They were covered in deep grey, ridged scales.

_"An _Iskar_?! How did one of _their_ kind get into Tanembir?!"_ She gasped with hushed breath.

It was a Shaman from the looks of the trade skill as well. Alchemy. But what was he doing here? He lifted the stein and poured the grinded oils into it, handing it over then, to the other hooded figure at the table.

This other uncorked a flagon at his hip and poured deep reddish black liquid into the stein and stood, passing it to the first black cloaked form.

It was then that Sorenna saw the indigo skin on the hands of the two dark elves. She was beginning to regret coming here, and she half pondered on running to fetch one of the city guards, but she didn't want to seem suspicious to this bad news group.

Sorenna could only watch in horror as the figure carried the stein through the crowd to the table, and the dark blue hand tapped the rampant dwarf on the shoulder. With battle-lust blazing in his one eye, the little man turned his head to look up at the hooded figure.

"Ya an' wha' da ya wan'?!" The dwarf obviously knew no danger.

"I commend thee on thy victories, sir. Thou art _clearly_ a formidable opponent in battle. But canst thou hold thy _liquor_ as well as thy _edge_?" A woman's voice came from the hood, and she offered out the stein to the dwarf.

"The _finest_ brew of the Tier D'al. Widow's Bog. _Traditionally_ a woman's drink. Art thou man enough to at least have a _taste_?" This drow woman was up to no good, Sorenna knew it immediately. But then again, when were dark elves doing anything virtuous?

"Tha' soun's ta meh li'e a challan'e 'ere li'ul missy. Don' ya dar' t'ink I be fool 'nuff ta tarn down free lagger, give tha' 'ere!" He reached out and snatched the stein from her hands rather roughly, spilling a small portion onto the table.

The dwarf raised the stein to his lips and poured it down in gulps, dribbling much of it down his chin and over his beard and mustache. He finally slammed the stein down onto the table and raised one fist up into the air with a triumphant bellow as he licked the dark crimson stains from his lips to get every last drop he could.

"Thar! 'Appy? Pixie liquor _tha'_ was! When ya guh' some lagger tha'll grow me s'mar 'air, you be comin' back, aright'?"

"As thou wishes, sir. But, might I ask thee that thou prove thy skill to my brother? _He_ believes that thou art a cheat. Shall I fetch him as thy next opponent?" She pointed over to the smaller black hooded figure in the booth. The other drow.

"If'n tha lah'ies lookin' ter figh' meh the' 'e's too ah'ul-brained ta know wha' chea'in is. Meh name's Gron Heavyhammer, an' I _ain'_ no chea'! Bring 'im 'ere!" He grunted and slammed his palm down upon the table, causing the stein to tip over and clang to the floor.

The figure at the booth stood and slowly made his way over to the table, sitting down opposite the obnoxious dwarf. The hood turned to look back at the only dark frame that remained that the booth, the Iskar, and the creature nodded.

"You don't need to know my name, dwarf, _you'll_ never get to use it." The seated cloaked drow spoke in clearly a man's tone while he propped his arm up onto the table.

The sleeve of his robe slid down off his arm and revealed more indigo skin and a glittering platinum and onyx bracelet. The jewelry seemed to give off eerie waves of darkness. The dwarf was furious and he pointed accusingly at the bracelet.

"Nuh-uh! Usin' charms an' tha likes ain' allowed! Take i' off, so when I wins I can make I' mine!"

"As you so desire. But I'll warn you now, _dwarf_, you won't win." The drow removed the jewelry and set it down on the table away from their hands.

"Ya rea'y then _bluebell_? On tha coun' a t'ree. One...two...t'ree!" Sorenna watched in silent bewilderment as the last number was called.

The dark elf slammed his entire arm so far that it launched the dwarf over the rail and down into the arena below. Gron lay there in shock for a moment or two before realizing where he was, and he scrambled to his feet, though he stumbled when he tried to walk, as if his leg muscles couldn't support his own weight.

The Iskar shaman slipped a weakening draught into the drink and quite a powerful one from the effects of it too. Gron ended up crawling out of the arena before he could get himself into a row with the last four contenders, and Sorenna let out a sigh of relief.

The female drow collected money from the few people while the male slid his bracelet back on and rose. He tilted his head to the side, giving his neck a slight tilt as he made his way back to the Iskar's table.

Sorenna drew back her wolf skull hood and walked back down the steps, making her way around the second floor landing to the next set of stairs


	5. A Friendly Reunion

As she drew closer to them, she heard the strangely familiar laughter of a woman. It was a jubilant noise, like the sound one would make if the didn't have a care in the world, or if they were very drunk. Sorenna hurried down the stairs and a smile beamed across her face before she could catch herself and control it.

"_Vilulae Runeglow_! Vil, what are _you_ doing here?!" The beautiful wood-elf was perched contently upon the knee of the barbarian Kudamil, giggling uncontrollably as she was trying to concentrate on the fight while being tickled by the warrior.

Upon hearing her name, those glorious locks of ash blonde flipped and hazeline eyes took in the sight of the half-elf.

"Sorenna Songstorm, (hiccup) I knew you were in town! I saw that naive little _sapling_ of a boyfriend of yours buying (hiccup) flowers earlier. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Trying to find something to compose, _by Bristlebane_, Vil, you're drunker than a grieving goblin..." Sorenna shook her head and walked over to her table, offering a smile to Kudamil and the elf as she took a seat. She tried to conceal the blush that rose to her cheeks at the mention of Fenrik buying flowers.

"I came here to watch Sark test his backstab. Kuda came because I hid his undergarments (hiccup) and threatened not to tell where it was if he didn't keep me company." She entwined her arms around the barbarian's neck and leaned up, giving him a slow deep kiss and causing Sorenna to look away.

The bard stared out into the arena, they were now on the ground floor and she didn't have to look down at the pit anymore. The rogue she'd seen earlier was indeed Sarkin, and he was getting too good to keep up with anymore. He was agile, nimble and ruthless, even more so since she'd seen him last.

"He cut his hair again." Was all she could come up with to say.

"Yes, yes I know. (hiccup) I really wish he wouldn't, he looks so cute with it long..." The half elf couldn't help but be amused with her friend's slurring speech but she bit her bottom lip to hide it, instead leaning over and taking in a soft tone so as not to be overheard.

"Vil....listen, I don't know if you knew, but you Kuda and Sarkin aren't the only strangers here....on one of the upper levels...th-there's a couple drow, a male and a female in black robes...and....one of _them_...you know.....the _lizard- men_...from Kunark...." The drunken wood elf's eyes went wide at the mention of it but she wasn't as startled as Sorenna figured she'd be. Rather, she looked more confused, and her voice faltered a bit.

"An _ISKAR_?! Are you _serious_?! There's one _here_ in Tanembir?! _How_?!"

_"Vilulae, hush._ They didn't even notice I was watching. Let's keep it that way, huh? I don't want any trouble..." The bard had clamped her hand over the druid's mouth to muffle her voice.

"Oh....hold on a minute....you said there were Tier D'al _too_? Ah, that's right (hic) they're here for the Tri-Caster match tomorrow night. They signed up with a shaman,....but _Tunare's grace_, I never thought it'd be an _Iskar_....judges wont look too highly upon that I suppose." She lifted her stein of Fire Ale and took another sip.

"The Tri-Caster Match? But I thought that was postponed until the ferries from Odus arrive?" Sorenna pulled out her quill and ink from her pockets and set her parchment upon her lap as she began to compose a Battle Hymn about Sarkin. She could not deny that the Half-elf rogue was quite an inspiring figure, darting and sneaking about, nearly untouchable. Rent was rent and she wasn't picky about the topic, thankfully, neither were Thomar or his customers.

"No, no! (hic) They arrived earlier tonight already. They had a high-elf wizard evacuate them over here so they wouldn't delay the competition. Cost them a fortune I bet (hic).....they went through the High Comet guild. Don't know who they used though...probably one of their newbies.... Menroc's out on a quest leave, hunting down Glass Spiders in Velketor's Labyrinth with his sister and a few guild mates. He said somethin' about trying to get his hands on some of their crystalline silks to make himself a new robe..."

"Nitani went with him? Figures.....guess it's just you and me then, huh Vil? All our childhood friends out on adventures...I think they _planned_ to leave us behind, always making trouble and getting in their way I suppose."

"Well (hic) don't you remember when we were younger? Always (hic) sneaking into crushbone, letting them run back to the Kelethin guards with a trail of orcs right behind them?" Kudamil couldn't help but smirk, for he was always the one chasing after the orcs, trying to kill them before the guards could.

"Yes, we were _all_ so young... You were still on your beginner's spells, I had just picked up my first drum...Menroc couldn't cast a single spell without fizzling it, and Nitani wasn't even able to enchant the _village idiot_!" Though the memories caused her to laugh, they also gave her another topic to scribble down on her parchment. She'd found two months rent in the now completed Battle Hymn and the recollection of her childhood.

She turned then and watched as the Clerics entered the Arena and began resurrecting the fallen fighters, and Sarkin, clutching his trophy, jogged up to them.

He started retelling his point of view on the battle, but Sorenna wasn't paying attention. Instead, her awareness was focused upon the Tier D'al and the Iskar Shaman, who slipped behind a secret door behind the arena.


End file.
